Yielded with full confent. The happier state
In Heav'n, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place expofes
Foremost to ftand against the Thund'rer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? where there is then no good
For which to ftrive, no ftrife can grow up there
From faction; for none fure will clame in Hell
Precedence, none, whofe portion is so small
Of prefent pain, that with ambitious mind
Will covet more. With this advantage then
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in Heav'n, we now return
To clame our juft inheritance of old,
Surer to profper than profperity
Could have affur'd us; and by what beft way,
Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate; who can advise, may speak.
He ceas'd, and next him Moloch, scepter'd king,
Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest Spirit
That fought in Heav'n, now fiercer by despair.
His truft was with th' Eternal to be deem'd
Equal in ftrength, and rather than be less
Car'd not to be at all; with that care loft
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worfe
He reck'd not, and these words thereafter spake.
My fentence is for open war: of wiles,
More unexpert, I boast not: them let thofe
Contrive who need, or when they need, not now.
For while they fit contriving, fhall the reft,
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The signal to afcend, fit ling'ring here
Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,
The prison of his tyranny who reigns
By our delay? no, let us rather choose,
Arm'd with Hell flames and fury, all at once
O'er Heav'n's high tow'rs to force refiftless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the torturer; when to meet the noise
Of his almighty engin he shall hear
Infernal thunder, and for lightning fee
Black fire and horror fhot with equal rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mix'd with Tartarean fulphur, and strange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps
The way feems difficult and fteep to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe.
Let fuch bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumm not still,
That in our proper motion we afcend
Up to our native feat: descent and fall
To us is adverfe. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Infulting, and purfued us through the deep,
With what compulfion and laborious flight
We funk thus low? Th' afcent is eafy then;
Th` event is fear'd; should we again provoke
Our stronger, fome worfe way his wrath may find
To our deftruction; if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd: what can be worse
Than to dwell here, driv'n out from blifs, condemn'd
In this abhorred deep to utter woe;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Muft exercise us without hope of end
The vaffals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More destroy'd than thus
We fhould be quite abolish'd and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incenfe
His utmost ire? which to the highth enrag'd,
Will either quite confume us, and reduce
To nothing this effential, happier far
Than miferable to have eternal being:
Or if our fubftance be indeed divine,
And cannot ceafe to be, we are at worst
On this fide nothing; and by proof we feel
Our pow'r fufficient to disturb his Heaven,
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inacceffible, his fatal throne:
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd Defp'rate revenge, and battel dangerous
To lefs than Gods. On th' other fide
Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer perfon loft not Heav'n; he feem'd
For dignity compos'd and high exploit:
But all was falfe and hollow; though his tongue
Dropt Manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reafon, to perplex and dash
Matureft counfels: for his thoughts were low;
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and flothful: yet he pleas'd the ear,
And with perfuafive accent thus began.
I fhould be much for open war, O Peers,
A's not behind in hate; if what was urg'd
Main reason to perfuade immediate war,
Did not diffuade me moft, and feem to caft
Ominous conjecture on the whole success:
When he who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counfels and in what excels
Miftrustful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter diffolution, as the fcope
Of all his aim, after fome dire revenge.
First, what revenge? the tow'rs of Heav'n are fill'd
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable; oft on the bord'ring deep
Incamp their legions, or with óbfcure wing
Scout far and wide into the realm of night,
Scorning furprise. Or could we break our way
By force, and at our heels all Hell fhould rifé
With blackeft infurrection, to confound
Heav'n's pureft light, yet our great enemy
All incorruptible would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and th' ethereal mould
Incapable of stain would foon expel
Her mifchief, and purge off the bafer fire
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat defpair: we must exasperate
Th' almighty victor to spend all his rage,
And that must end us, that must be our cure,
To be no more; fad cure; for who would lofe,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Thofe thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallow'd up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of fenfe and motion? and who knows,
Let this be good, whether our angry foe
Can give it, or will ever? how he can,
Is doubtful; that he never will, is fure.
Will he, fo wife, let loose at once his ire,
Belike through impotence, or unaware,
To give his enemies their wish, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger faves
To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then?
Say they who counsel war, we are decreed,
Referv'd, and deftin'd to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we fuffer more,
What can we fuffer worfe? Is this then worst,
Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in arms?
What when we fled amain, pursued and struck
With Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and besought
The deep to shelter us? this Hell then seem'd
A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay
Chain'd on the burning lake? that fure was worse.
What if the breath that kindled thofe grim fires, 170
Awak'd should blow them into fev'nfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames? or from above
Should intermitted vengeance arm again
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